Full Circle
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: It hurts him to have to say it. To call someone besides Her "M." But he needs Mallory now, and he won't get what he needs unless he swallows his heart and shatters the bonds that tied him to Her for all of those years. *Character Death, Suicide*


Mallory has Bond up on all fours in the middle of his bed, waiting, waiting for him to make the first move. He's prepped and leaking onto the sheets, and still Mallory does nothing but stroke his back and sides, resting his cock between his cheeks, but not going iin/i.

"Don't make me beg."

Mallory grips his hips in his hands, and Bond perks up. Finally, yes, it's going to happen and—!

Nothing.

His head drops down past his shoulders.

"Why, Mallory? Why are you doing this? God, please. M never—"

"—I iam/i M. You'll do well to remember that, Bond."

Furious and not even caring what the consequences for his actions may be, he makes to get out of the other man's grip. But Mallory isn't stupid, and he quickly pins Bond to the bed. Mallory is not going to allow Bond to attack him simply to assuage his grief over his predecessor. James struggles for a bit before sagging down onto the bed. He buries his face into the blanket to muffle the sounds of his sobbing.

"Bond," Mallory intones.

"Just fuck me already, Mallory. Please, just let me forget. Just let me forget for tonight."

Mallory releases his vice grip on James' wrists and moves to massage his tense shoulders, working his way down his back until his hands are at his hips again. The sobbing has ceased, but tear drops continue to dot the covers.

"This can only happen once. You know that don't you?"

"Yes."

Mallory grabs his cock to line up with James' hole, but again he pauses. If Bond understands that this is a one-off, he will proceed. But he needs to be truly convinced. He can't afford to have any misunderstandings now, not when the man before him is so fragile.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, M," he chokes. It hurts him to have to say it. To call someone besides Her "M." But he needs Mallory now, and he won't get what he needs unless he swallows his heart and shatters the bonds that tied him to Her for all of those years. He does all of this in the privacy of his own mind, and he aches and aches and aches.

He slides inside James in one smooth motion, and he can't help but wonder how She felt when he slid into Her. Mallory slides in and out of his ass in quick, shallow strokes until he can't help but let out a sharp inhale every time Mallory sinks inside him. The pleasure is distracting, but not enough to keep him from imagining Her in the room with him right now.

She would probably stroke his hair and tell him to stop mourning her because it's been quite long enough already, don't you think? She would tell him to be brave and to keep his wits about him. She would want him to not let this kill him along with Her. MI6 can't afford to lose anyone else. Perhaps She would even kiss his lips and wipe his tears away.

He can even almost picture Her sitting across from him now in a prim white suit about to tell him what was what. She wouldn't beat around the bush. She would come right out and say what was on her mind, just like always: "You can't keep going on like this, 007. It's quite unprofessional. What we had was something special, but I'm gone now, and Gareth Mallory is a good man. He needs your help as much as I ever did. You must keep going for both your sakes. Make the right choice here. I believe in you, my sweet boy."

She would caress his face one last time, fingers so soft to the touch. She would give him one last look that said everything they couldn't, and he would know exactly what She meant. And then She would vanish as quickly and as quietly as She had come...

In the present, James realizes that Mallory is jerking his cock in time with his rough thrusts. He hadn't realized he had been shouting quite so loudly while wrapped up inside his own head.

"Come on, Bond," Mallory grunts. "Let it go. Let it go, soldier."

James whimpers into the sheets. They were right. They were all right. He can't. He cannot let Her go. If he let's Her go, what is left of him? What is left of him other than his aging body and fractured mind and blackened soul?

"I need you, Bond. I need your trust. I need you to trust me."

God, how can he trust someone else when he doesn't even trust himself? It's over. iHe's/i over.

"Yes, M," he whines anyway.

It's a lie. Lies, lies, lies.

With the next thrust, Bond's spilling over Mallory's fist, and Mallory is spilling into his ass until both of them are too spend to move for several minutes. Even though he is full of come, he's never felt more empty in his life. When the haze of orgasm has lifted, James climbs from the bed to find his clothes so he can leave.

"You don't have to leave, Bond," Mallory generously offers.

"Yes I do," James responds desperately.

James is out the door before Mallory can stop him.

When he gets into his car, James knows exactly where he wants to go. One of the benefits of getting fucked by the heads of MI6 is that they never lived too far from HQ. Once parked, it takes him a mere two minutes reach the Memorial Wall and even less time to find Her name carved into the black marble. Her real name. The one She hated.

He runs his fingers over each letter of Her name before sitting down with his back to the wall, directly under Her name. Breaking his back left molar brings him almost no sensation of any kind. The cyanide pill sits on his tongue for a second as he takes one last second to realize that this is exactly how this whole cycle started.

His last thought before biting the capsule is who will be the poor sod who will find him in the morning. He decides he doesn't really care.

He burns.


End file.
